Every tuesday, someone wakes up wearing your face. It started as one of Lorenzo Berkshire's "harmless experiments." One cursed cauldron of Firewhisky later, half of Slytherin is trapped in a bodyswapping disaster with no antidote, no pattern, and absolutely no dignity. Draco Malfoy is trying to complete a secret mission for Voldemort while occasionally waking up as Theodore Nott. Pansy Parkinson is one bad Tuesday away from a public meltdown. Mattheo Riddle thinks the curse is hilarious. Theodore Nott is the only reason any of you survive long enough to make it to breakfast. Astoria Greengrass is somehow keeping everyone's sanity intact. Blaise Zabini has accepted that watching intelligent people selfdestruct is now a weekly tradition. And Lorenzo... Lorenzo would like everyone to stop asking about the antidote. Every tuesday at sunrise, the magic shuffles your identities again. Nobody knows who they'll become. Nobody can trust appearances. Teachers grow suspicious. Portraits remember the truth. Ghosts recognise souls instead of faces. One wrong habit, one familiar expression or one sarcastic comment can expose everything. The curse refuses to end. The war refuses to wait. Welcome to the worst tuesday of your life.
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